3509 
ES14W 


1ER  WAR  RHYMES 


ANTHONY  EUWER 


Y 
A 


4,  z^-/^/ 

s'—y  // 


WINGS 

and 
Other  War  Rhymes 


WINGS 

and 

Other  War  Rhymes 

By 
ANTHONY  EUWER 

Author  of 

Rhymes  of  Our  Valley,  The  Limeratomy, 
Christopher  Cricket  on  Cats. 


New  York 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

1918 
All  rights  reserved. 


Copyright  1918 
By  Moffat,  Yard  &  Company 


To 
LUCILE  NELSON 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

For  the  privilege  of  using  the  rhymes  in 
this  volume,  the  author  wishes  to  thank  the 
publishers  of  Leslie's  Weekly,  the  St.  Paul 
Dispatch  and  Pioneer  Press,  the  Buffalc 
News,  the  Washington  Star,  the  Portland 
(Oregon)  Spectator,  the  Portland  Oregon- 
ian,  and  the  Pittsburgh  Chronicle  Telegraph. 


CONTENTS 

Then  Give  Us  Wings      .... 
The  Man  We  Want     .... 
Ships,  Ships  and  More  Ships 
Haig  Holds  the  Line      .... 
Are  You  Americans?    .... 

Fags 

Have  You  House-Cleaned  Yet? 

Let  It  Wait 

The  Hands  That  Drive  the  Needles 

De  Profundis 

A  Definition  of  Sedition 

The  Vultures 

The  Cross  of  Red 

Number   Three 

Lieutenant  Lutie's  Cootie    . 

A  Mother  Speaks 

He  Struck 

On  Some  Tomorrow 


Then  Give  Us  Wings 

IF  wings  will  help  our  men  to  see 
Some  Boche's  belching  battery, 
Releasing  from  a  screen  of  trees 
Its  screeching  death  upon  the  breeze — 
Or  help  our  giant  guns  to  search 
With  truer  aim  each  hidden  perch 
Of  Teuton  guns,  and  make  them  meek 
Ere  they  again  may  chance  to  speak — 

If  wings,  O  God,  will  do  these  things, 
Then  give  us  wings. 

If  great  destroying  wings  might  stay 

Munitions  on  their  hurried  way, 

Or  hold  a  reinforcement  back 

By  dropping  ruin  on  its  track, 

Or  yet  set  free  the  pent-up  hell 

Of  depots  filled  with  shot  and  shell, 

Or  swiftly  give  eternal  sleep 

To  ships  that  prowl  the  nether  deep — 

If  wings,  O  God,  will  do  these  things, 
Then  give  us  wings  and  still  more  wings. 


If  fast,  avenging  wings  might  cast 

On  German  cities  such  a  blast 

Of  desolating  death  and  pain 

As  fell  again  and  still  again 

On  England's  homes — and  thus  awake 

The  heart  of  pity — and  so  make 

An  end  of  killing  mothers,  wives, 

And  maiming  helpless  infant  lives — 

If  wings,  O  God,  will  do  these  things, 
Then  give  us  wings  and  wings  and  wings 
And  still  more  wings. 

If  dauntless,  daring  wings  that  dash 
O'er  No-man's  Land,  with  shot  and  crash 
Might  beat  back  wings  that  would  assail 
Advancing  armies  with  their  hail — 
If  dauntless  wings  like  these  that  ride 
O'er  No-man's  Land,  might  turn  the  tide 
Of  great  offensives — bring  about 
Allied  success  and  Teuton  rout — 

If  wings,  O  God,  will  do  these  things, 
Then  give  us  wings  and  wings  and  wings, 
Devouring  wings  that  cleave  and  soar, 
And  yet  more  wings,  and  more  and  more. 


If  multitudes  of  wings  might  rise 
To  blind  aggression's  lustful  eyes, 
And  render  powerless  each  stroke 
That  seeks  to  force  the  tyrant's  yoke — 
If  multitudes  of  wings  might  give 
Democracy  a  chance  to  live, 
And  make  this  bloody  carnage  cease, 
And  bring  to  earth  a  lasting  peace — 

If  wings,  O  God,  will  do  these  things, 
Then  give  us  wings  and  wings  and  wings, 
And  still  more  wings  prepared  to  smite 
Till  Victory  comes — the  hosts  of  light 
Beneath  the  sun,  whose  pinions  shine 
Beyond  our  farthest  battle-line. 


The  Man  We  Want 

WHAT    ho!     You  men!    A  word  with 
you — 

Three  minutes  of  your  time  will  do — 
About  a  loan.    So  please  to  stay 
And  when  you've  harkened,  go  your  way. 
Just  what  it's  for — the  crying  need — 
You  know  full  well — aye,  well  indeed ! 
You've  had  for  three  years  back  and  more 
Your  correspondence-school  on  war. 
Well  then — is  it  to  plead  or  bribe — 
Here  is  the  bond — will  you  subscribe? 

We  want  the  man  who's  had  to  hump 
And  stint  to  save  his  little  lump, 
Who  hopes  to  help  but  hasn't  yet, 
Well — he's  one  man  we  want  to  get. 
The  man  with  kit  and  dinner-pail, 
The  man  in  blue  who  totes  the  mail, 
Conductor,  motorman  and  clerk, 
The  man  who  knows  the  worth  of  work — 
Come  sign — you  will  not  run  amuck, 
Your  Uncle  will  not  see  you  stuck, 
If  you  go  broke  that  bond  will  talk — 
It's  solid  as  Gibraltar's  rock. 

And  you — good  man  of  mod'rate  means, 
If  you  will  dig  down  in  your  jeans, 


[4] 


For  Liberty — pull  one  more  trick 
Until  you  feel  it  touch  the  quick — 
And  you — man  schooled  in  big  finance, 
Come  through  once  more — look  not  askance 
Toward  those  investments  that  would  bear 
Much  higher  rates — but  do  your  share. 

We  want  the  gold  that  came  by  sweat, 
The  easy  gold  We  want — you  bet, 
We  want  the  gold  that's  honest  through — 
And  tainted  gold — we  want  that  too, 
Perhaps  —  who    knows  —  such    ill-gained 

pelf 

May  have  a  chance  to  square  itself. 
And  when  you  loosen  on  your  pile, 
Remember  this — for  God's  sake  smile — 
Or  grin  a  bit — it's  all  the  same 
Just  so  you  show  the  world  you're  game, 
Because  you'll  need  to — ten  to  one — 
Before  this  Armageddon's  done. 

Hysteria  and  flashing  splash — 
They  will  not  win — the  final  smash 
Will  come  by  holding  on — jaws  clenched — 
A  bull-dog  tugging — though  he's  drenched 
In  blood — which  means  that  there  is  some 
Time  yet  ahead — with  loans  to  come, 
And  lucky  you  who  yet  may  live, 
If  all  you  have  to  do — is  give ! 


Ships,  Ships  and  More  Ships 

LONG  the    towns  that    flank  the  rivers 
they  are  moulding  guns  and  shells, 
And  the  skies  of  night  are  lighted  with  a 

host  of  flaming  hells. 
Down  the  rocky  Cascade  ranges  they  are 

hewing  mighty  lanes, 
And  they're  combing  out  the  spruce-trees 

for  the  bones  of  aeroplanes. 
We've  plowed  and  sown  our  prairies  and 

we've  reaped  the  sheaves  of  gold, 
We've  garnered  and  we've  husbanded  our 

grain  in  sacks  untold. 
We've  gouged  our  earthen  vitals  out  by 

damp  and  dusky  hole, 
We've  clawed  and  clutched  and  brought 

to  light  our  moiety  of  coal, 
And  the  most  of  us  have  striven  by  what 

means  we've  had  at  hand 
To    help    the    conservation    of    the    food 

throughout  the  land. 

We've  got  our  men  in  training  and  a  lot  of 

them  we've  sent 
And  endless  droves  are  coming  still  to  fill 

each  cantonment. 


[6] 


Our  mills  alive  with  action  are  a-stepping 
double-quick 

To  turn  out  duds  for  rookies  and  they're  go 
ing  to  do  the  trick. 

Our  women-folk  have  given  all  their  splen 
did  energy, 

To  the  bandage  making  business,  for  the 
wounded  o'er  the  sea. 

We've  braced  our  shoulders  to  the  wheels 
of  our  machine  of  war, 

We've  pushed  along  right  lustily — but  say ! 
We've  reached  the  shore! 

Beyond  us  is  an  ocean.  It's  mighty  deep 
and  wide 

And  only  ships  will  float  our  guns  unto  the 
other  side, 

And  only  ships  will  take  our  men  and  only 
ships  will  bear 

'Our  Uncle's  pile  of  luggage  for  the  big 
push  over  there, 

As  long  as  we're  without  them — though 
we  sweat  and  swear  and  pray, 

We  can  take  it  out  in  whistling  till  our  ships 
have  crossed  the  bay. 

So  fall  to  lads !    Get  busy — and  whosoever's 

fit 
Will  find  a  shipyard  waiting  for  a  lad  to  do 

his  bit — 


[7] 


Two  hundred  and  yet  fifty  thousand  men 

to  give  a  lift 
For  every  day  are  needed  eight  hours  to 

each  shift! 
They  want  you,  men!     They  want  you! 

For  our  freight — it's  all  a  jam — 
Don't  you  hear  the  husky  calling?     'Tis 

the  voice  of  Uncle  Sam ! 
He's  callin'  to  employers  and  he's  askin' 

them  each  one 
To  lend  him  all  the  men  he  needs  until  the 

task  is  done — 

He's  calling  men  who've  got  the  skill  to 

come  and  show  their  stuff — . 
He's  offered  goodly  wages  and  his  word  is 

pledge  enough! 
For  we  all  have  been  invited  to  a  function 

o'er  the  sea 
By  a  War  King  called  the  Kaiser!  and  it's 

signed  R.  S.  V.  P. 
We've  sent  him   our  acceptance   and   we 

want  to  go  in  state 
And  we've  got  to  have  the  ships,  my  lads, 

before  it  is  too  late. 


[S] 


Haig  Holds  the  Line 

EXTRIE!"   the  newsies  call — "Extrie! 
Big  German  Drive  in  France !  Extrie ! 
Ten  Thousand  Prisoners!     Extrie! 
All  About  the  Big  Hun  Smash !    Extrie ! 
Is  that  yer  smallest,  Boss  ?     Extrie ! 
Chimmie!     Change  a  buck!     Extrie!" 
Down  ev'ry  street  with  shrill-pitched  key 
And  flying  feet — we  hear — "Extrie ! 
All  aboui^-Extrie !" 
From  Harlem  to  the  Battery, 
From  London  to  the  Zuyder  Zee, 
From  Tokio  to  fair  Dundee — 
In  divers  tongues  they  cry  "Extrie !" 

The  "Blood  Bath" — such  the  name 
They  dubbed  it — well,  at  last  it  came 
With  gas  and  flame.    Then  fell  Bapaume, 
They  took  Combles  and  crossed  the  Somme. 
To  Montdidier  they  drove  their  wedge 
With  Noyon  on  the  southern  edge. 
For  seven  days  the  long  front  bent 
Until  it  seemed  their  force  was  spent, 
And  on  they  surged  across  their  dead — 
Yet  ever  in  the  news  we  read 
"Haig  Holds  the  Line." 


[9] 


A  million  men  and  more  they  flung 
Against  a  wall  that  swayed  and  swung— 
Out-numbered — yes !     But  unafraid ! 
The  earth  rocked  with  their  cannonade, 
But  oh  the  Hunnish  blood  that  drained 
With  every  shell-swept  yard  they  gained. 
In  Berlin,  banners  waved  that  day 
And  bells  rang  out — but  who  can  say 
What  depth  of  woe  they  knew  who  read 
Those  columns  of  the  endless  dead— 
Who  saw  their  wounded — mile  on  mile 
Return — train  after  train — the  while 
Haig  holds  the  line! 

They  strove  for  Paris  and  Calais, 
They  thought  to  scatter  and  dismay 
Our  hosts — to  split  the  allied  mass — 
The  answer  came — "You  shall  not  pass!" 
From  guns  left  by  the  Bolshevick, 
From  Austria's  guns  they  had  their  pick. 
Gods  what  a  duel!     A  stadium 
Where  all  the  eager  world  had  come 
To  see  the  beast  recoiling  there 
In  red  defeat — while  ev'rywhere 
Haig  holds  the  line! 


10] 


Are  You  Americans? 

ARE  you  Americans?     Arise 
Shake  off  your  lethargy — get  wise! 
We're  fighting  Germans!     Then  give  ear! 
The  Germans  over  there — and  HERE! 
And  by  that  word  I  designate 
Those  who  abjure  our  sovereign  state — 
Who  in  their  hearts'  allegiance  stand 
For  Kaiserdom  and  Fatherland. 
And  so  I  say  without  amends — 
I  say  we  have  no  GERMAN  friend's. 
The  hyphen's  past — you  cast  your  lot 
Beneath  our  flag — or  you  do  not. 

We're  fighting  Germans  gun  for  gun 
And  blood  for  blood  and  son  for  son! 
The  Hell-hounds  there  across  the  seas 
And  here  amongst  us — if  you  please, 
Those  skulking  Jackals  in  disguise — 
Those  Hun  Hyenas — German  Spies! 
Those  prowling  Skunks — forever  keen 
To  fling  their  venom — vent  their  spleen 
By  arson,  bomb  or  any  scheme 
To  bring  about  their  Kaiser's  dream. 
Thank  God  we've  got  men  who  can  play 
The  prowling  game  as  well  as  they 
And  so  hats  off — hats  off,  I  say 
To  the  Secret  Service,  U.  S.  A. 

[ii] 


And  they  are  getting  them — although 
The  papers  don't  print  all  they  know — 
There  seems  to  be  a  notion  that 
Publicity  might  make  the  rat 
More    cautious.      Well — perhaps    they're 

right! 

And  yet — I  somehow  think  the  sight 
Of  German  Spies  a  swinging  there 
In  full  view  on  the  public  square 
Beneath    a    sign— "TAKE     HEED     AND 

LEARN! 
TO     ALL     THOSE     WHOM     IT     MAY 

CONCERN— 

OUR  GREETINGS!      THESE   MEN   MET 

THEIR  FATE 

IN  SEEKING  TO  ASSASINATE 
OUR  NATION'S  LIFE!" 
It  seems  to  me 

Somehow — if  this  were  done — 'twould  be 
So  disconcerting  to  the  gang 
Who  doubtless  would  not  care  to  hang — 
'Twould  make  them  use  such  care  that  they 
Would  likely  quit  the  Kaiser's  pay, 
And  in  the  spy-trade,  stocks  would  drop 
To  bed-rock  with  a  sickening  flop ! 
But  what's  the  use — it  can't  be  done, 
I  tell  you  and  you  can  help — each  one 
Right  here  at  home — and  pull  some  stunt 
To  back  your  nation's  solid  front. 


[12] 


And  when  you  hear  sedition  talked, 

Or  hear  the  Red  Cross  workers  knocked, 

Or  hear  the  swinish  Pacifist, 

Or  other  isms  down  the  list 

Of  soap-box  creeds — the  Anarchist — 

Or  Bolshevist — plain  Trouble-ist — 

Or  I-double-you-double-ist — 

Whoe'er  he  be — if  his  attack 

In  word  or  action  would  hold  back 

Our  fighting  forces — or  yet  seek 

To  make  our  nation's  spirit  weak — 

Then  brand  him  with  the  double  cross, 

E'en  though  that  branding  mean  the  loss 

Of  bosom  friend.    Then  cry  his  name 

Until  that  crying  spell  his  shame — 

Our  path  is  strewn  with  many  rocks 

Without  these  useless  stumbling  blocks. 

And  when  you  meet  the  man  who's  heard 
From  sources  higher  up — some  word — 
Some  dead-sure  tip  that  any  day 
We  may  have  peace— wake  up  I  say ! 
Forget  it  friend  and  can  your  hope — 
You're  drinking  Wilhelmstrasse  dope — 
'Tis  pleasant  stuff  and  often  serves 
To  still  the  pulse  and  soothe  the  nerves ! 
A  lullaby — the  croon  of  which 
Will  leave  you  sleeping  at  the  switch. 


[13] 


Remember  this — our  war-machine, 

Our  army,  navy  and  marine — 

Must  wax  and  wane  accordingly 

As  is  the  strength  in  you  and  me ! 

We'll  have  our  peace — when  we've  seen 

through 

The  thing  we  started  out  to  do, 
And  that  will  be  in  this  great  war, 
When  God  sees  fit  and  not  before. 


[14] 


Fags 

SAY— 
Have  you  heard  the  call  on  the  morn 
ing  breeze 

From  our  boys  in  Khaki  across  the  seas, 
"A  fag  if  you  please !  A  fag  if  your  please !" 
As  he  does  his  turn  under  the  broiling  sun 
With  his  eye  close  trained  on  the  steel-blue 

gun 

Through  the  trench's  wall  with  the  dirt- 
filled  bags — 

And  all  that  he  asks  is  a  pack  of  fags! 
In  the  morning — fags — and  a  fag  at  night, 
And  a  fag  with  rasher  and  candlelight — 
With  your  coffee     fags — and  a  fag  with 

beans, 

And  a  pack  tucked  tight  in  your  bloomin' 
jeans! 

There's  a  straight-laced  species  of  hard- 
shelled  folks 

Who  would  show  "thumbs  down"  on  the 
call  for  smokes, 

Who  would  tighten  up  on  their  fat  purse- 
strings, 

Though  they'd  dole  the  dollars  for  showier 
things ! 


[is] 


Say — 

Had  your  life  been  saved  in  a  fire  and  you 

Went  to  thank  the  chap  who  had  seen  you 

through, 

Would  you  hesitate  if  the  fireman's  shirt 
Were  a  trifle  soiled   or  besmirched   with 

dirt? 
Would  your  hand  hang  limp  when  you  saw 

him  drain 

Just  a  swig  or  two  for  his  fevered  brain? 
Would  your  thanks  stop  short  when  you 

learned  the  fraud 
Sought  the  Virgin's  aid  when  he  prayed  to 

God? 

He  was  good  enough  for  a  noble  deed 
But  he  differed  some  in  his  ways  and  creed. 
Say- 
Were  you  ever  broke?    Was  it  any  joke 
When  you  simply  craved  for  a  good  old 

smoke? 
If  you  think  you  can't  see  the  day's  work 

through 

Without  blowing  smoke  till  the  air  is  blue — 
If  you've  got  to  puff  just  to  lull  your  nerves 
Though  the  humdrum  jolts  and  the  hum 
drum  curves 
Of  your  humdrum  life  with  your  humdrum 

ease — 


[16] 


What  of  the  lads  who  have  crossed  the 

seas? 
There  is  one  thing  sure — that  no  matter 

what 
You  may  think  you've  done  for  the  cause, 

you've  got 

To  go  some  I  guess  in  this  bloody  strife, 
To  approach  the  man  who  has  staked  his 

life. 
Say — 
Do  you  see  him  there   where  the   dawn 

breaks  red, 
With  the  wild  shells  shrieking  above  his 

head, 

As  he  crouching  waits  for  the  one  com 
mand — 

For  the  head-long  rush  into  No-man's  Land ! 
Well  I  think  perhaps — as  the  moments  lag, 
There's  a  lucky  chance  that  he'd  want  a 

fag! 
Do   you   see    him   there    with   the   bands 

blotched  red 
'Round  a  shattered  limb  ?     Well  I've  heard 

it  said 
That  a  wounded  man  as  the  long  hours 

drag, 
Doesn't  mind  the  taste  of  a  proffered  fag ! 


[17] 


Do  you  see  his  name  on  the  honor-roll? 
He  was  killed  in  action — he  paid  the  toll ! 
Would  it  make  you  happier  if  you  knew 
That  the  lad — gone  West — had  his  smokes 
on  you? 

Then  what  is  the  most  you'd  hand  a  chap 
Who's  done  what  a  man  should  do — 
Who's  taken  his  chance  in  the   fields  of 

France — 
Where  he's  doing  his  bit — for  you! 


[18] 


Have  You  House-Cleaned  Yet? 

LAST  night  I  spent  at  your  behest 
An  evening  in  your  home — your  guest. 
You  cautioned  me  to  have  a  care — 
Some      German-speaking      friends      were 

there — 

Americans  of  course — although 
'Twas  natural  they'd  feel  thus  and  so 
About  the  war — I  did  my  best 
And  held  my  tongue — I  was  your  guest. 
Our  singing  too — it  struck  me  strange — 
Was  kept  within  a  certain  range. 
It  seems  we  skipped  "My  Country" — 
You  know — "Sweet  Land  of  Liberty — 
Of  Thee" — we  did  not  sing.     Instead, 
You  turned  the  page  to  "Roses  Red !" 
And  then  that  Pacifist!    Long,  lean — 
An  oldish  chap — who  graced  the  scene — 
With  oily  speech  and  cod-fish  eyes — 
Who  thought  we  still  might  compromise — 
Who  quoted  Christ  the  truly  meek — 
And  stuff  about  the  other  cheek! 
Although  my  nerves  grew  quite  unstrung, 
I  was  your  guest — I  held  my  tongue. 


[19] 


But  now  Dear  Madam — here  today — 

I'm  not  your  guest — I'll  have  my  say! 

We'll  cull  the  cotton  from  the  flax 

And  get  right  down  to  plain  brass  tacks. 

American — of  course  you  are! 

You've  bought  your  bonds  to  push  the  war, 

You've  done  your  Red  Cross  work  perhaps, 

Sewed  bandages  for  soldier  chaps — 

And  yet — the  issues  of  our  State 

And  of  our  country's  very  fate 

Are  hushed  forsooth — that  there  might  be 

No  strain  nor  breach  of  courtesy 

Beneath  your  roof.     I  ask  of  you 

Where  is  your  deference  mostly  due? 

To  alien  folk  who  hold  no  part 

In  our  great,  throbbing,  national  heart? 

And  he — your  babbling  Pacifist — 
Who  quotes  his  Christ  and  dares  insist 
On  respite  from  this  war's  alarms 
By  meekly  laying  down  our  arms! 
Is  that  the  Christ  who  put  to  rout 
The  money-changers — drove  them  out! 
Would  such  a  Christ  condone,  I  say, 
Such  crimes  as  are  abroad  today? 
Would  such  a  Christ  e'er  countenance 
Those    beasts    who    raped    and    ravished 

France  ? 

Would  such  a  Christ  yield  one  small  jot 
To  this  man's  peace-schemes?     I  think  not! 


[20] 


Then  Madam — would  it  no  be  fit 
To  have  your  house  cleaned  up  a  bit? 
We  are  at  war  and  want  to  see 
The  unconditional  loyalty 
Of  every  home.     'Twill  not  avail — 
A  courtesy  of  sliding  scale. 
Raise  high  the  emblem  of  your  land — 
Let  no  man  wonder  where  you  stand. 
Let  none  who  cross  your  threshold,  dare 
To  dim  those  stars — or  make  less  fair 
Those  flaming  stripes.    That  clarion  call 
Bids  for  no  "bit" — it  wants  your  all ! 
Your  country's  splendid  womanhood 
Has  answered   "Aye."     Will  YOU  make 
good? 


[21] 


Let  It  Wait 

WHAT  ho !    Stop  a  moment — American 
Man! 

Just  what  are  you  doing  today? 
You'll   pardon  my  somewhat  impertinent 

tone, 

But  then — well,  we  all  have  our  way. 
Are  you  working  on  something  you  could 

set  aside — 

On  some  sort  of  notion  no  doubt, 
That  you  and  your  friends  and  the  country 

at  large 
Could  exist  for  a  moment  without? 

Is  there  anything  you  could  be  doing  just 

now 

Before  it's  too  hopelessly  late — 
Is  there  anything  you  could  put  off  for  a 

spell? 

Well  then — my  good  man — let  it  wait! 
Let  it  wait! 

Are  you   planning  improvements — a   sky 
scraper,  say — 
That's  going  to  take  labor  and  steel — 


[22] 


Or  investing  the  outlay  your  government 

needs, 

Putting  that — in  an  automobile? 
Are  your  spare  hours  of  energy  going  to 

waste  ? 

Have  you  let  all  your  talents  be  seen? 
Have  you  looked  for  the  hole  where  your 

screw  will  slide  in 
To  the  cogs  of  our  national  machine  ? 

Man  alive — ev'ry  screw  we  must  have — so 

come  through 

Before  it's  too  hopelessly  late — 
Ev'ry  screw  is  of  use — if  you've  got  an  ex 
cuse — 

Well  then — put  it  by — let  it  wait! 
Let  it  wait! 

If  your  house   were   on  fire — would   you 

stop  to  play  bridge? 
Or  hope — with  a  small  china  bowl — 
To    dash    enough    water   to    conquer   the 

flames 

And  get  the  thing  under  control? 
Well  —  the  world  is  in  flames  —  and  it's 

working  this  way, 
And  the  only  back-fire  that  will  tell, 


[23] 


Is  the  uttermost  measure  of  blood  and  of 

sweat — 

For  we're  fighting  the  furies  of  Hell! 
Is  there  gold  you  could  lend — is  there  time 

you  could  spend 
Before  it's  too  hopelessly  late — 
Then  cut  out  your  dreams  and  your  little 

pet  schemes 

And  do — in  God's  name — let  them  wait ! 
Let  them  wait ! 


[24] 


The  Hands  that  Drive  the  Needles 

OH  the  knitters — have  you  seen  them? 
Why  they're  knitting  ev'rywhere, 
Knitting  helmets,  sweaters,  wristlets  for  the 

soldier-boys  to  wear, 
And  those  who  don't  are  learning  how  and 

those  who  won't  I  guess, 
Will  soon  be  driven  to  it  from  their  very 

loneliness. 

There's  a  mighty  nation  knitting  ev'ry  pre 
cious  hour  away — 
A  million  homes  a-knitting  at  the  olive  and 

the  gray, 

With  a  work-bag  for  equipment  and  a  ball 
»      or  two  and  skein 
And  a  twitching  pair  of  needles  stitching 

endless  chain  on  chain — 
A-twitching  and  a-stitching  while  the  wool 

in  endless  tons 
Is  a-twisted  into  comfys  for  the  boys  behind 

the  guns. 

Though  I'm  skittish  on  statistics  I  would 

venture  there's  enough 
Of  knitting  done  each  day  to  yield  sufficient 

woolen  stuff 


[25] 


To  make  a  sleeveless  sweater  and  a  helmet 

to  array 
The  statue  of  Old  Liberty  down  there  in 

New  York  Bay — 
Together  with  the  wristlets  and  a  couple 

extra  pairs 
Of  socks,  though  she'd  not  need  them  with 

the  drapery  she  wears. 

Oh  they're  knitting  on  the  mountains  and 
they're  knitting  on  the  plains, 

They're  knitting  on  the  street-cars  and 
they're  knitting  on  the  trains, 

They're  knitting,  knitting,  knitting  on  a  uni 
versal  plan 

From  Dallas  up  to  Bangor — from  Atlanta 
to  Spokane. 

They're  knitting  at  the  theatres  and  at  the 
movie  shows, 

At  lectures  and  recitals — and  I  venture 
there  are  those 

Who  go  to  bed  a  knitting  till  the  shades 
of  dreamland  creep, 

When  I  s'pose  they're  just  as  likely  to  keep 
knitting  in  their  sleep. 

And  the  pious  and  the  worldly  and  the 

almost  half-way  good — 
They're   knitting,   knitting,   knitting  in   a 

common  sister-hood. 


[26] 


And  whether  at  a  cabaret  or  at  high  mass — 

it's  one! 
And  they  may  talk  who  will — but  say — 

the  knitting's  being  done. 
And  the  helmets  and  the  sweaters  and  the 

wristlets — they  don't  care 
Who  knit  'em  if  they  fit  'em  when  they  git 

'em  over  there! 

Oh  there's  comedy  in  knitting  if  you  choose 

to  have  it  so, 
There  may  be  petty  vanities  and  there  is 

pain  I  know, 
But  it's  love  that  drives  the  needles  and 

it's  love  that  keeps  alive 
A  nation's  tireless  interest  in  the  everlasting 

drive ! 
And  the  mothers  of  the  nation — they  are 

knitting  everywhere, 
A  weaving  with  their  knitting  each  a  silent, 

fervent  prayer 
For  a  loved  one  in  the  trenches  out  upon 

the  bleak  terrain, 
In  Flanders  when  it's  freezing — or  Flanders 

swamped  in  rain. 
A  prayer  that  those  soft  woolen  things  will 

keep  her  laddie  warm, 
That  He — in  some  strange  wondrous  way 

will  shield  her  boy  from  harm. 


[27 


"Oh  Father  God"  that  heart  cries  out — it 

rings  through  Heaven's  Halls, 
"Oh  Father  God  who  knowest  when  a  little 

sparrow  falls, 

Oh  Lord  of  Hosts  and  Battles — of  Gentle 
ness  and  Might, 
Hear  thou  and  harken  to  me  now — be  with 

our  boy  tonight. 
Lord    give    him    strength    and    hardihood 

through  service  to  withstand 
The   driving  cold — the   long  fatigue   that 

duty  may  demand. 
Wherever  he  is  at  this  time,  tell  him — oh 

God  above, 
The    message    of    a    mother's    heart — the 

yearning  and  the  love. 
And  when  the  guns  belch  death  along  the 

reeking  battle's  rim, 
Oh  may  no  swift-borne  messenger  be  there 

to  challenge  him. 
Hear  thou  my  plea — oh  God,  and  hear  all 

those  who  come  to  Thee — 
Above  all,  Lord,  the  mothers — who  have 

loved  ones  o'er  the  sea."  ' 

Oh  who  shall  say  the  knitters  have  not  done 

a  noble  thing — 
That  their  knitting  will  not  figure  in  the 

final  reckoning, 


28  ] 


When  the  battling,   blood-soaked  nations 

shall  their  destinies  fulfill, 
And  the  Voice  that  stilled  the  tempest  shall 

again  say,  "Peace — be  still!" 
And  the  hands  that  drove  the  needles  for 

the  boys  beneath  the  sod 
Shall  be  raised  in  supplication  to  the  great, 

white  throne  of  God? 
Will   He   not  hear  their   pleading   for   a 

peace  that  will  be  worth 
All  the  lives  that  bled  and  suffered  for  a 

weary  world's  re-birth  ? 


29] 


De  Profundis 

AN  ambulance  crashed  down  the  road 
And  halted  with  its  shattered  load, 
From  off  the  hooks  they  took  them  then — 
Those   racks   that  rocked   the   wrecks   of 

men. 
One's  face   was  swathed  in  blood-soaked 

bands — 

Quite  still  he  lay — with  pallid  hands. 
Quickly  the  bandage  was  unwound — 
The  scarlet  rag  dropped  to  the  ground. 
The  young  Field-Surgeon  shook  his  head — 
"Poor  chap — he'd  been  far  better  dead — 
It's  tough — the  way  he'll  have  to  grope — 
He  caught  it  in  the  periscope." 

And  this  was  over  there  in  France — 
The  Surgeon  and  the  ambulance 
Are  working  yet — perhaps.     The  man 
Is  struggling  with  life's  altered  plan, 
Learning  with  others  how  to  grope 
And  shift  without  a  periscope. 

A  simple  word — five  letters — B-L-I-N-D! 
Yet  can  you  grasp  it  in  your  mind 
And  read  the  truth — the  truth  exact — 
The  overwhelming,  awful  fact? 


[30] 


Just  close  your  eyes  and  try  to  go 

With  hands  out-stretched — quite  helpless — 

so! 

You  move — you  touch  a  table  here — 
With  what  timidity  and  fear! 
Five  minutes  try  it — make  it  ten, 
Then  picture  all  those  wretched  m«n 
And  multiply  the  many  fears 
Of  your  brief  moment — with  their  years. 

You  knew  the  darkness  would  all  go 
The  moment  that  you  willed  it  so. 
Suppose  that  inky,  velvet  plane 
Were  always  there?     Again,  again 
You  craved  for  one  faint  ray  of  light — 
Your  answer  was — eternal  night! 
All  those  familiar  forms  you  knew — 
The  flowers  that  danced — the  sky's  deep 

blue — 

The  radiance  of  each  fond  face — 
Eyes  bright  with  love — must  all  give  place 
To  pictured  memories — the  kind 
They  know  who  go  forever  blind. 

Oh  they've  paid  well — the  men  who  gave 
Their  warm,  white  flesh  and  blood  to  save 
Their  ravished  France — who  strove  to  tell 
Their  love — by  sacrifice.  They  have  paid 
well! 


[31] 


The  hammer  on  the  auction  block 

Of  battle,  rings.     Gassed  lungs  and  shock 

And  shattered  limbs — such  bids  are  dear! 

But  hold  a  space — the  auctioneer 

Awaits  a  greater  sacrifice 

For  Liberty — two  mortal  eyes! 

Oh  comrade  would  you  cast  some  spark 
Of  light  in  that  eternal  dark? 
Help  to  instill  some  vital  power 
To  battle  with  each  endless  hour? 
Teach  him  to  work — to  know  content 
Who  only  knew  discouragement? 
Then  give  those  fighting  men  of  France 
Who    grope,    some    hope — some    fighting 

chance. 

Give  well — let  not  your  gifts  be  staid — 
The  helpers  wait — they  need  your  aid. 
A  voice  from  out  the  darkness  cries 
"What   will   YOU   give?      WE   gave    our 

EYES!" 


[32] 


A  Definition  of  Sedition 

WHEN  William  Jenkins  comes  to  me 
And  in  his  ramblin'  way — says  he, 
"D'ye  know  somehow  it  gets  my  goat 
To  see  the  way  our  nation's  boat 
Jest  bumps  around  while  bein'  run 
By  them  chaps  down  in  Washington. 
Now  take  some  job  that  at  a  glance 
Needs  years  of  broad  experience — 
They  saddle  it  on  some  poor  boob 
Whose  head  is  like  a  hollow  tube, 
And  'fore  you  know — the  cable's  foul 
And  all  the  country's  on  a  howl! 
With  woods  chockful  of  expert  gents 
From  Gen'rals  to  Ex-presidents 
Who  willingly  would  give  a  lift 
But  all  that's  left  them  is  to  shift 
Around  and  agitate — or  spout 
To  help  the  Red  Cross  workers  out!" 

When  William  Jenkins  airs  his  views 

On  politics  and  war-zone  news, 

While  droppin'  in  to  have  a  bite, 

I  say — "Well  Will — perhaps  you're  right!" 


[33] 


When  Williams  Jenkins  comes  to  me 
The  followin'  Friday  and  says  he, 
"Now  look  at  them  committees  how 
It's  fume  and  fuss,  discuss  and  row — 
And  all  them  bottoms  to  be  made — 
Why  man!  the  way  they've  been  delayed! 
And  why  in  Heaven's  name  don't  they 
Light  on  some  dead-sure,  certain  way 
Of  squelchin'  strikes — that's  where  we're 

cursed, 
Once  get  them  fixed,  we're  through  the 

worst." 

When  William  Jenkins  takes  a  turn 
Like  this  and  lets  his  genius  burn 
While  droppin'  in  to  have  a  bite, 
I  say — "Well  Will — perhaps  you're  right 

And  then  again — perhaps  you're  not! 
For  how  on  earth  do  we  know  what 
The  cards  are  that  are  spread  out  there 
Before  the  presidential  chair? 
Don't  you  suppose  they've  got  to  chew 
A  lot  of  grist  that's  kept  from  you  ? 
A  government  most  any  dunce 
Can  run  until  he's  tried  it  once!" 
That's  how  I  hand  it  out  to  Will 
Sometimes — when  he  has  said  his  fill. 


34] 


But 

When  Heinrich  Sneider  comes  to  me 

And  in  his  loud-mouthed  way — says  he, 

"Now  when  the  Lusitania  sank, 

We  only  had  ourselves  to  thank! 

We  have  no  cause  as  I  can  see, 

To  be  at  war  with  Germany. 

Who's  this  war  for — for  me  and  you? 

It's  for  the  profiteer — that's  who ! 

And  what  right  has  a  nation  got 

To  send  its  men  out  to  be  shot? 

The  President — why  one  good  look 

Would  show  him  up  to  be  a  crook!" 

Well! 

If  Heinrich  Sneider  got  that  far 
aWith  his  prologue — the  chances  are 
That  I  might  say — "Perhaps,  old  chap, 
You'd  better  close  your  lyin'  trap 
Right  tight  and  now— or  else  by  Heck, 
I'll  break  your  goldarned  Teuton  neck!" 


[35] 


The  Vultures 

OH  what  is  war  to  a  lot  of  folk? 
Does  it  mean  'Til  bear  the  heavy 

yoke 

Of  sacrifice  and  share  the  pain, 
And  though  my  soul  break  'neath  the  strain, 
I'll  starve — if  starving  bring  to  me 
And  to  my  children — Liberty!" 

Does  it  mean  "Take  me — and  be  my  task 

A  big  or  little  thing,  I  ask 

But  this — take  me !    If  it  should  be 

To  die — yet  still  I  ask — take  me ! 

To  plunge  into  that  bloody  Hell — 

To  wade  through  fire  and  gas  and  shell — 

Is  that  my  task — 

Then  still  I  ask — 

Take  me !  " 

Oh  what  is  war  to  a  lot  of  folk? 

Does  it  spell  these  things  with  its  heavy 

yoke? 
It  does  not! 

To  some,  alas,  this  war  we're  in 
Is  not  a  thing  to  fight  and  win — • 


[36] 


It's  just  a  signal  to  begin 

To  reach  around  and  grab  the  tin — 

To  give  as  little — gain  as  much, 

And  fill  a  fist  with  every  clutch. 

"In  war-times — why  a  man's  a  fool 

To  traffic  by  the  golden  rule. 

The  profiteer  must  have  his  fling 

And  while  the  stinging's  good — I'll  sting. 

I'll  fill  my  wallet  till  it's  crammed, 

And  as  for  you — well  you  be  damned !" 

That's  what  war  means  to  lots  of  folk — 

A  ghastly,  grizzly,  greedy  joke! 

By  what  name  shall  we  call  these  things — 

These  human  shapes  with  vultures'  wings? 

You  can  not  tell  him  by  his  looks, 

For  honest  faces  cover  crooks — 

But  whether  he  is  one  of  those 

Who  loads  the  dice — he  knows,  he  knows ! 

While  through  his  veins  the  toxine  flows — 
The  lust  of  pelf — the  greed  that  grows 
And  ends  in  self.     Perhaps  his  dice 
Are  pies — half-sized,  but  not  the  price. 
Perchance  he  fattens  up  his  roll 
With  slate  and  rubbish  sold  for  coal. 
Or  else  his  lair's  an  office  where 
He  sits  ensconced  on  tilted  chair 


[37] 


A-juggling  through  some  shipping  deal 
That  smacks  of  bolts  and  men  and  steel. 
Mayhap  the  poison  has  encoiled 
The  soul  of  him  who  one  time  toiled 
And  gave  his  best — an  artisan, 
Now  scheming  with  his  slacker  clan 
To  clutch  his  nation's  \\rist  and  hold 
It  till  the  palm  gives  up  more  gold. 

Oh  God!  That  cravens  such  as  these 
Are  spawned  by  war's  necessities ! 


[38] 


The  Cross  of  Red 

Dedicated  to  the  Oregon  Association  for  the  Pre 
vention  of  Tuberculosis,  Christmas,  Nineteen- 
seventeen. 

KNOW  you  the  seal  that's  going  'round— 
A  cross  of  red  on  ermine  ground  ? 
A  cross  of  red  upon  a  tree — 
The  emblem  of  humanity. 
You  can't  pass  by  that  cross  of  red — 
It  waves  you  to  a  million  dead, 
Who  wasting,  wasting  day  by  day, 
Forlorn  of  hope,  passed  on  their  way. 

It  points  you  to  a  million  gone 

And  hordes  who  still  are  tramping  on, 

Who  follow  ever,  one  and  all, 

The  grinning  piper's  hollow  call. 

His  face  is  cowled— while  dread  disease 

Lurks  in  those  folds  that  flaunts  the  breeze. 

On  swings  the  piper,  piping  free, 

Wan  souls  into  eternity. 

Oh  you  who  have  that  which  would  stay 

The  piper  on  his  ruthless  way, 

Come  buy  our  seals  that  we  may  give 

A  stricken  brother  chance  to  live. 


39 


Oh  wait  no  longer — see  the  throng, 
Way-weary  souls  who  march  along, 
Who  may  not  tarry  down  the  track — 
Then  speed  your  gifts  and  bring  them  back. 
But  you  have  given  of  your  store 
Generously?     Well  then — give  more. 
The  war  you  say — has  burrowed  deep, 
These  charities  at  home  will  keep. 

From  camp  to  camp,  a  tramping  he 
Pipes  on  with  death-like  minstrelsy, 
And  with  his  piping  he  Will  fare 
Across  the  fields  of  Flanders  there, 
And  through  the  chill  and   through  the 

damp 
They'll  join  the  throng  with  tramp,  tramp, 

tramp. 

See  how  they're  swinging  into  line — 
Look  closer  there — your  boy  and  mine. 

Oh  you  who  chance  to  read  this  rhyme 
About  a  cross  at  Christmas  time, 
God  grant  you  may  be  moved  to  feel 
The  meaning  of  that  little  seal 
With  mute  appeal — may  it  awake 
Man's  big  enobling  heart  to  make 
Some  human  gift  that  in  His  eyes 
May  prove  a  worthy  sacrifice. 


[401 


Number  Three 

A  TTENTION  there !    Let  trumpets 
*V    blare! 

Thunder  ye  drums  and  boom ! 
Make  way  I  say — make  way  today 
For  Liberty !  Make  room ! 

You've  heard  that  war-cry  twice  before 
And  now  you're  hearing  it  once  more! 
There's  much  that  sounds  like  old  refrain  ? 
You'll  hear  it  still  and  still  again ! 
You'll  hear  it  cried  aloud  until 
A  Kaiser's  will's  reduced  to  nill ! 

For  Liberty — another  loan! 
Mark  how  it  rhymes  with  crimes  unknown, 
With  widow's  groan  and  orphan's  moan, 
With   homes  laid   low — stone   heaped   on 

stone, 

With  carrion  and  bleaching  bone, 
And  —  trusting    God  —  with    shattered 

throne ! 

Tonight  the  lights  along  Broadway 
Will  blazon  forth  the  cabaret 
And  song  and  dance  will  hold  their  sway 
And  wine  will  flow — to  music  gay 


[41] 


And  merry  as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gold  unstinted  there  will  pay 
For  each  Alladin's  feast !    But  stay, 
Is  there  no  jarring  note  that  rings 
Up  through  this  din  of  carnal  things 
And  brings  us  to  a  vantage  where 
We  see  that  des'late  World  out  there  ? 

Another  Loan !  For  Liberty ! 
Come  then — your  gold  for  number  three. 
You  are  not  asked  to  GIVE — God  grant 
Your  country  is  no  mendicant! 
You're  LENDING  it — to  help  set  right 
A  world  distraught — lending  your  mite! 
Oh  man  at  home — could  you  do  less 
To  stem  this  tide  of  frightfulness? 

Attention  there!  Let  trumpets  blare! 

Thunder  ye  drums  and  boom! 
Make  way  I  say — make  way  today 

For  Liberty !  Make  room ! 


[42] 


Lieutenant  Lutie's  Cootie 

THERE'S  a  tale  about  a  cootie— how  he 
did  his  little  stunt 

When  he  heard  the  call  to  duty  on  the 
Flanders  battle-front. 

Not  a  beauty  was  this  cootie — just  a  com 
mon  little  coot 

Who  had  taken  up  his  quarters  on  a  rather 
raw  recruit, 

In  his  boot — where  the  coot,  so  minute, 
loved  to  root — 

Till  a  Teut  chanced  to  shoot  the  recruit — 
laid  him  mute, 

And  the  coot — so  minute — absolutely  min 
ute — 

Had  to  scoot  'round  and  root  for  a  suite  in 
some  suit. 

"Just  to  think,"  said  the  coot,  "what  a  bum 
piece  of  luck — 

When  you've  got  a  good  thing — then  to 
find  that  you're  stuck ! 

To  have  thunk  you  were  snug  as  a  bug  in 
your  bunk — 

Then  your  home  it  is  plugged  with  a  slug — 
Gee  it's  punk!" 


[43] 


Then  it's  up  and  it's  out  and  it's  chase 

'round  about 
For  a  krinkle-rink-chink  on  a  khaki-clad 

scout. 
"Oh  it's  worse  than  a  curse,"  said  the  coot, 

"it's  a  plague !" 
And  he  hopped  on  the  top  of  a  Lieutenant's 

leg, 
And  he  didn't  say  "howdy"  and  he  didn't 

salute  'im, 
For  the  gay  little  rowdy  knew  the  Lieut 

Would  root  'im. 

t 

Now  Lieutenant  Lewis  Lutie,  he  had  slewn 
a  slew  of  cooties — 

Tutie-fruities,  Cuties-cuties  were  the  nick 
names  of  the  beauties 

That  he  clutched  in  fiendish  passion  till 
their  little  souls  would  cash  in, 

While  the  whiz-bangs  and  the  shrapnel  o'er 
the  dug-outs  went  a-crashin.' 

Oh  the  cooties  Lutie  smote  and  oh  the  way 
they  got  his  goat 

As  he  punched  'em,  claw'd  and  crunched 
'em — 'twas  his  only  antidote, 

For  no  potion,  drug  nor  lotion  pharmaceu 
tical  could  floor 

Those  progressive  little  parties  on  the  cuti 
cle  he  wore. 


[44] 


While  the  cooties  looted  Lutie,  he  was  wait 
ing  the  command 

To  take  the  first-line  trenches  t'other  side 
of  No-man's  Land. 

Though  bravely  he  dissembled,  yet  he 
trembled  in  each  peg, 

And  the  newly-quartered  cootie  caught  the 
tremor  in  his  leg. 

"  'Twill  never  do — this  nervousness,"  the 
little  cootie  said, 

"The  way  he's  bobbing  'round  I  fear  he'll 
surely  loose  his  head!" 

No  sooner  had  he  spoken  thus,  than  sud 
denly  there  fell 

Upon  his  ear  the  distant  shriek  of  an  ap 
proaching  shell. 

He  heard  the  whiz — saw  Lutie's  phiz  above 
the  parapet — 

"Oh  Lord !"  the  cootie  said,  "that  boob  will 
surely  get  it  yet! 

Why  don't  he  duck?  Why  won't  he  duck? 
If  he  should  stop  that  shell 

I'll  have  to  up  and  move  again — oh  say, 
this  life  is  Hell ! 

You  must  not  sell  yourself  so  cheap — Lieu 
tenant  Lewis  Lutie, 

I  tell  you  this  though  I  am  but  an  uncouth 
little  cootie. 


[45] 


Your  country  needs  you — so  do  I — oh  duck ! 

oh  duck  I  say!" 
And  then  that  coot,  he  stuck  his  snoot  in 

Lutie's  fleshly  clay. 

Lute  gave  a  jook — he  grabbed  that  coot — 

he  held  the  precious  booty, 
The  shell  whizzed  by — Lute  did  not  die — 

the  coot  had  done  his  duty. 
"Alas!"  said  Lute,  "you're  so  minute,  your 

chest  would  scarcely  bear 
Such  fearful  weight  should  I  instate  you 

with  the  Croix  de  Guerre! 
And  since  you  are  so  wee,  you  see — my 

mascot  you  shall  be — 
Nor  ever  scoot  away,  my  coot,  but  root 

your  snoot  in  me." 
Thus  Lutie  spake  as  he  did  take  and  stuck 

him  tenderly 
Back  on  the  spot  where  he  was  caught — 

just  underneath  the  knee. 

He  was  a  humble  cootie  but  his  courage 

didn't  lag 
When  he  came  to  do  his  duty — for  himself 

and  for  his  flag. 


[+6] 


A  Mother  Speaks 

I      GIVE  you  my  boy — I  may  do  no  less — 
Flesh  of  my  flesh  I  give. 
I  give  you  my  boy  with  his  fair  young  life, 
I  bid  him  go  forth  to  the  bloody  strife, 
My  heart — it  is  torn  with  a  two-edged  knife 
Life  is  so  sweet  to  live. 

I  give  you  my  boy — oh  thou  gracious  Christ 

Pardon  these  burning  tears. 
I  give  you  my  boy  in  his  princely  power, 
My   laddie — but   come   to   his   manhood's 

flower, 
With  love — with  ideals  of  a  golden  hour 

Greeting  the  dawn  of  years. 

I  give  you  my  boy — will  you  give  him  back 

Clean  as  the  lad  I  knew 
Or  will  he  return — if  this  thing  should  be, 
Coarse-fashioned     and    brutal — estranged 

from  me, 
Forgotten  the  dreams  and  the  beast  set 

free — 
He  whom  I  gave  to  you  ? 


147 


I  give  you  my  boy — should  the  reaper  call 

Truce  on  an  alien  sod, 
My  strength  it  will  come  for  the  great,  dark 

way, 
But  where  is  the  strength  that  will  ever 

stay 

That  bitterest  grief  when  men  would  slay 
The  soul  that  has  walked  with  God? 


[41] 


He  Struck 

HE  struck !  So  did  ten  thousand  more — 
Mechanics  and  the  like — 
Big  burly  chaps — machinists  some — 

They  all  walked  out  on  strike. 
He  struck !  So  did  ten  thousand  more — 
Aye — more  than  that.     They  struck 
Because  their  over-lord  and  they 
Had  come  to  grips — and  stuck. 

They  struck  because  the  ship-yard  man 

Refused  to  pay  them  more, 
Though  what  they  got  was  big  compared 

With  what  they  drew  before. 
And  so  they  packed  their  tool-chests  up 

And  cursed  their  rotten  luck 
And  marched  back  to  their  little  homes — 

The  homes  that  had  not  struck. 

And  all  that  giant  wicker-work 

Upon  the  dry-docks  there, 
Was  left  about  just  where  it  stood — 

Somewhat  up  in  the  air. 
While  Britain,  France  and  Italy 

Were  holding  Teutons  back, 
The  ships  of  hope  they  waited  for 

Were  hanging  on  the  rack. 


[49] 


He  struck — and  loitered  'round  the  streets, 

Discoursed  with  idle  men, 
Until  the  Union  and  the  Ships 

Could  come  to  terms  again. 
The  soup  grew  thin — so  did  the  kids, 

The  bills  kept  coming  in, 
And  she  who  bore  the  brunt  just  prayed 

That  work  would  soon  begin. 

* 

He  struck!  His  brother  volunteered. 

He  entered  for  the  strife — 
Gave  all  his  service  and  threw  in 

A  big  chance  on  his  life. 
He  took  his  training — went  across, 

Was  killed — shelled  through  the  cheek. 
The  other  brother's  back  to  work — 

They  came  to  terms  last  week. 


[50] 


On  Some  Tomorrow 

ON  some  tomorrow — when  it  comes — 
How  soon  none  may  forsee, 
There  will  be  men  and  women  met 
In  social  company. 

One  man  will  wear  an  armless  sleeve 

And  sitting  near  to  him 
A  comrade  blind — and  still  a  third 

With  crutch  and  shattered  limb. 

There  will  be  talk  of  field  and  trench, 

Of  battles  in  the  air, 
Of  conflicts  and  of  charges  and — 

Of  men  who  are  not  there. 

And  others  will  be  welcome  to 

That  circle  with  the  rest, 
Who  strove  through  those  dark  hours  of 
trial 

To  live  and  give  their  best. 


[51 


And  those  who  heard  and  answered  not — 

Who  gave  no  jot  away — 
Will  find  but  little  interest  in 

The  talk  of  men  that  day. 

On  some  tomorrow — when  it  comes — 

How  soon — none  may  forsee, 
There  will  be  men  and  women  met — 

What  will  your  welcome  be? 


152] 


'f. 


A      000 9fi4  7 '"""" 

^OH  /oy 


